


Introspection

by doritoFace1q



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (could you tell), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, Self-Sacrifice, Titan Shifters, episode: s02e11 Charge, mentions of marley, nobody knows what ymir is doing including ymir, she's gay leave her alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doritoFace1q/pseuds/doritoFace1q
Summary: Maybe when she opened her eyes again, she’d be standing in that ashy desert, and she would kiss her under the light of a million lives.
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	Introspection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr ask from mistystarshine ([post](https://doritoface1q.tumblr.com/post/625861457690722304/i-wish-you-would-write-fic-where-canon-diverges))

She couldn’t stay.

She knew she couldn’t stay.

But  _ god _ (and wasn’t that a laugh), she wished she could.

The inside of the Titan was hot, and wet, and suffocating like nothing she’d ever felt before. The fleshy prison she was buried in scorched her skin through the rough fabric of her clothes, pulsing and throbbing like something alive with every beat of its shrivelled sandy heart. Like being buried in concrete, except the concrete was boiling and red and tugging her deeper and deeper like something desperate to devour.

Quicksand, then.

Shouting. All she could hear was shouting. Jean, Mikasa, Sasha, the bald one, Kris— _ Historia _ . Like horns blaring in the tiniest room of a baby’s dollhouse, words that rang and echoed and overlapped each other and set her teeth on edge. She clenched her fists and her claws dug deeper into Reiner’s shoulder.

Her cheeks burnt like it was being pierced with a hundred white-hot needles, and every movement, every breath, every shift so small Shadis wouldn’t have been able to pick it up the thing made pressed them in further, clawing past the boundaries of flesh and digging deeper, deeper into her. The skin around her eyes was a mess of charred black flakes and raw pink meat, and her eyes watered with the steam that came from more than just the healing. The salt was good for the burns, at least.

She wondered if Eren felt this way.

She wondered if the others did, too.

Historia was still clinging to her hair—clinging to her, her, not the others—and she held onto that like a lifeline, like it was the fraying rope that was the only thing between her and a death drop into a bottomless chasm that opened up to oblivion (because it was more than that, it was  _ so much more _ ).

_ Historia _ .

God, Historia.

It was a pretty name, Historia. Fit for a princess.

It suited her.

Bertolt was screaming. She said screaming. Crying, more like. Not sobbing, not quite. Just crying.

He was always crying. Always sweating, always shaking, bottom lip always wobbling like he was a kid who’d just found his goldfish floating belly-up in its bowl.

She listened. She didn’t want to, but she did.

That’s the problem with being at the top, see. There’s never anything to miss.

She listened and—

She remembered.

She remembered empty bellies and scraped knees and little feet caked with dirt and shit. She remembered broken glass and splintered wood and stones that bit like bug, or tiny bullets. She remembered wild dogs that might as well have been men, and men that might as well have been wild dogs. She remembered rumours, and whispers, and watching limp, broken bodies leaving trails of red in the streets that took weeks to wash away. She remembered children holding guns like they were dolls, and wearing armour like they were pretty dresses, and showing off the pointed star like it was a shiny new bracelet. Explosions that rocked the streets from miles away, and screaming that they had all pretended not to hear under the crackling of the flames. Pain, and fear, and burning yellow lightning seventy years ago, seven years ago, a night ago, five minutes ago.

Empty eyes and ragged blond hair like piss-stained straw.

_ Okay, then _ .

She let go.

She heard Historia (and maybe a few others, and maybe herself) scream, and felt a weight vanish off her shoulders. She didn’t bother to check whether she’d survived, didn’t check whether the Scouts had come after her (the Scouts, not the others—she wasn’t stupid enough to think she was one of them anymore. Not that she’d ever been, in the first place).

If the giant haggish rat she was stuck in was good for one thing, it was jumping.

The plating on Reiner’s nape split beneath her claws and the creature roared, throwing its head back. The Scouts scattered like little green flies as she clambered over him, biting here, scratching there, tearing out chunks of flesh and armour like moldy toenails when she got the chance.

It was what she was made for, after all.

There was a lot she could have done. She was spoiled for choice, really. She could have turned tail and ran, gone back. She could have kept going until the Armoured Titan was a steaming pile of ash and Reiner Braun was a red spot in the grass. She could have crawled out of her Titan’s nape and put her fists on her hips and laughed like they’d just shared a great joke. She could have stayed still and been crushed under a massive, plated foot. The possibilities were endless.

She didn’t do any of that.

Two screaming little things hung from Reiner’s chest, bouncing up and down as he flailed his arm, grabbing at her, like the world’s dumbest nipple clamps. One in blue, and one in green and still without fingers.

The angry one with the stupid hair went flying over her shoulder. She’d just hope Mikasa would catch him.

The tall one went in her mouth, and she went as fast as she could.

She could hear him roaring behind her, screaming after her in a language only he could speak, but everyone understood. Her tongue was wet with blood and the roof of her mouth was hot with steam, and the skinny one was thrashing around like a speared fish, an analogy helped all the more by the needle-like fangs speared through his shoulder, chest, and legs.

She felt the earth rumbling behind her. He was coming after him. Just like she knew (alright, guessed) he would.

The things worth corporal punishment for, eh?

She was faster, but she was also smaller, and his was stronger by far. He’d catch her, either eventually or soon. All depended on the man bleeding out in her mouth, she supposed.

It hadn’t been the dumbest plan in the world. She bet her right leg (again) the Survey Corps had tried worse. It was probably on the list for contenders of the worst executed, though.

Ha. Executed.

Maybe she’d fail. Maybe she’d already failed. Who knew. Maybe they were busy scraping the Titan-hating dunderhead off the ground and, somewhere, there was a kid being born who wasn’t going to live past puberty. Maybe Reiner would take the time to tear her apart limb by limb, then turn around and pick up right where he’d left off.

Maybe when she opened her eyes again, she’d be standing in that ashy desert, and she would kiss her under the light of a million lives.

Bertolt let out a scream like a wounded animal, and a shadow like a raging mountain fell over her.

She should risk life and limb more often, she thought. She didn’t remember the last time she’d managed to be this poetic.

**Author's Note:**

> i rewatched the old guard right before writing this can you tell
> 
> tumblr: [@doritoFace1q](http://doritoface1q.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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